Just Another Gypsy
by whitesheepcbd
Summary: Kurt moves to NYC after attending college in Ohio, with big dreams of Broadway stardom. It turns out to be harder than he thought….but it's not a bad thing to be just another Broadway gypsy.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This was written for the Kurt Hummel Big Bang and already posted elsewhere, I just forgot to post it here. Which means the fic is already complete in ~22,700 words and I just need to post it. I plan to split it up into four or maybe five chapters and post one chapter a day. **

**There aren't really any warnings with this fic, only a disclaimer that the Broadway shows mentioned in the story were chosen at my whim. They didn't all run on Broadway within a couple years of each other, as this fic implies.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Breathe, Kurt. Just breathe. You can't sing if you're not breathing. He rolled his neck and shoulders a bit to keep loose.

The door opened and the actor who'd gone in before him came out, a tall blonde whose voice had carried only faintly through the closed door, not loudly enough for Kurt to assess his talent. He hadn't been in there long though.

"Number 322, you're up." A woman with a tablet waved him through.

Okay. This was it. Breathe, Kurt. Look confident. He strode quickly into the studio, nodding to the people behind the long table but heading toward the piano with his sheet music. The accompanist was leafing through a magazine, looking thoroughly bored.

The studio was colder than he expected, almost frigid after the stuffiness of the hallway with the combined body heat of dozens of people waiting their turn. He suppressed a shiver, not wanting to actually look as scared as he felt.

"Stop there," a woman's voice commanded, and he obediently turned to face the long table. "What's your name?"

"Kurt Hummel." His voice came out even higher than usual and he swallowed, trying to relax his throat which had gone tight.

"No Broadway experience?" a man at one end asked, looking at his resume. Kurt knew it was woefully inadequate compared to everyone else auditioning today. He'd performed in every production he could while at college, but the theatre department there hadn't been as active as he would have liked.

"No. I just arrived in town two weeks ago." The woman in the center exchanged glances with the others on either side of her, then set his resume aside.

"You're not what we're looking for. You can go."

He replayed the words in his head, standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, trying to make sense of them. They were telling him to go? He'd barely set foot in the room.

"But….I didn't even sing for you. You can't just-"

"Actually, we can." The woman's voice was polite, but firm. "Sorry to waste your time, but you're just not what we're looking for."

His mouth opened and closed a couple times, as he fought internally between wanting to voice his outrage and not wanting to further annoy Broadway professionals who he might find himself in front of again one day. Finally he turned and left the room, feeling as though he'd just been tossed in a dumpster, and now had to wipe cafeteria left-overs from his face.

The woman by the door held it open for him, and he saw apology in her eyes. She gave a small smile. "Welcome to Broadway," she said.

He kept his head down as he shoved his way past the still-hopeful applicants in the hall, imagining their derisive looks at him as he passed. He'd been in the room less than sixty seconds, obviously he'd been summarily rejected. He expected to hear laughter as the door swung shut behind him.

Out on the sidewalk, cheeks still burning, he woke up his phone. Foregoing gloves so he could type, he tapped out a message.

To Dad: total waste of time

A moment later, while he still leaned against the wall watching New York hurry by and wondering what to do with the rest of his day, the phone buzzed with an incoming call. Garage, the screen read. His dad liked to stay in touch but wasn't much for texting. Kurt sighed, answering the call but unable to summon words.

"What happened?" His dad's voice—gruff, direct, and more home to him at this moment than anything surrounding him in this overwhelming city—made him want to cry again, for different reasons this time.

"I…" He didn't really want to say it out loud. But this was his dad. He could say it to him. "I didn't even get to sing. I waited almost four hours, they took one look at me and said I'm not what they're looking for."

"Bastards," came through the phone with genuine feeling, and Kurt laughed a little despite himself.

"Yeah, they were."

"Did you write down the name of the person who dismissed you?"

"Dad, I never got a chance to learn any of their names. I wasn't in the room long enough."

"You should find out their names," he said firmly.

"Why?"

"It'll make a great story one day, when you're a big Broadway star. You'll be doing an interview and say how Joe Putz Producer turned you down. It'll drive him crazy."

A single huff of laughter was all Kurt could manage, but at least he wasn't crying. "Thanks, Dad."

"So you'll kill it at the next audition, I know it."

* * *

Kurt ran his fingers over his phone screen, debating whether to text his dad again with the dismal recap of his latest audition. The first such call had been hard enough. Now, four weeks and three more failed auditions later, he couldn't bear to have that conversation again.

He shivered, reaching into his coat pocket for hat and gloves. It may not have been the best idea to move to New York City in January. He'd been wearing boots every day since he arrived, in defense against the combination of ice, water, and snow slush that covered every sidewalk in the city. The sun had made an appearance only a handful of times since his arrival. He looked up, peering between the tall buildings for that elusive giant light bulb in the sky, but only saw the same gray haze that had covered the city every day.

"Hey," a voice said to his left. He looked over to see a tall boy, about his own age, who he'd been talking to as they both waited for their numbers to be called. Kurt had been pathetically grateful for someone to talk to, even if they'd only exchanged idle remarks about the length of the wait. It seemed that at every audition, everyone else clustered in pairs and small groups to gossip and laugh, while he sat alone. Previous attempts to initiate conversation with others had been met with awkward silences or outright rudeness, but this guy had been friendly enough.

"Hi," Kurt answered. "Congrats on the dance callback, Mike. " He tried to sound sincere. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for Mike, he was. He'd seen his audition and the guy could _seriously_ dance. He didn't have much of a singing voice, which he confessed was what was holding him back on Broadway, but his dance moves….wow.

"Thanks," the other's face creased into an easy smile. "Better luck next time, huh?"

"Hopefully." He knew his smile was strained but it was the best he could do. Mike's own wide grin faltered.

"You said you just arrived in town, right?"

"Yeah." Kurt looked down at his phone, which he was still turning back and forth in his hands. It seemed obvious to everyone. He was a shiny new penny, hadn't even been circulated yet.

"You'll get there. I heard your singing audition. You have_ awesome_ upper notes, dude. I mean, there are lots of talented guys on Broadway, but not many can sing with the sopranos. "

"Hopefully someone else will feel that same way." At least he'd gotten to sing this time, and do the dance audition even, before being kicked out on the street. That was progress, right?

Mike's phone buzzed and he looked down at it. "My girlfriend's meeting me so we can go to dinner, but she's stuck in traffic. I, umm…..I know a coffee shop around the corner, want to keep me company while I wait for her there?"

He hesitated, wary of this guy who had no reason to be nice to him but was being nice anyway. Kurt hadn't encountered many such people in New York. He hadn't encountered many such people, period. But he hadn't come to New York to hide, had he? He could have hidden back in Lima.

He realized that Mike was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. "Sure," he said finally.

"So what's your story?" Mike asked as they perched on stools at a hole in the wall place. Through the window they could watch pedestrians pushing for space at the curb as they waited for the light to change.

"My story?" Kurt asked cautiously, as he stirred cream into his coffee.

"Yeah, like where you're from, when you moved to New York, like that."

"From Ohio, just moved here a couple months ago. Still trying to get over the culture shock of the big city."

"Tell me about it. I came here for dance training at American Ballet Academy, I was from a small town too. This place scared me to death at first."

"You trained in ballet?" Kurt asked in surprise. He would have guessed that anyone with a strong ballet background would audition for a ballet company. "Then why Broadway auditions?"

"Oh, not just Broadway. I'm auditioning for pretty much anything and everything. Including cruise ships." Kurt groaned sympathetically. "I know, cruise ships are scraping the bottom of the barrel as far as job opportunities. Not my first choice, believe me. But it's tough out there."

"If this is meant to be a pep talk, you're failing dramatically," Kurt informed him.

"Not a pep talk." Mike shook his head. "Just a talk, period. I kinda got the vibe that you were new in town, even before you told me. I'm guessing you haven't met many people yet."

"No, I haven't. Thanks for the conversation."

They talked a few more minutes before Mike's phone beeped again, and a moment after he texted back the door opened, the wind ushering in a girl with blue streaks through her long black hair.

"Hey babe," she greeted Mike with a kiss, and he got down off his stool to offer it to her. "I'm Tina," she introduced herself, holding a hand out to Kurt.

"Nice to meet you. Are you an actor too?"

"Oh, no. I mean, I considered it. I did the usual Glee club and Drama Club musicals in high school. I love to perform, but the fact is that there aren't that many roles for minorities, and I don't have Mike's killer dance moves. So I'm in my last year of studying for a theatre management degree."

"I briefly considered that myself. You're right, it's a lot more stable as a career. So does that include business classes? Do you take any classes in the theatre department at all?" Kurt asked, genuinely interested. He loved to perform, but he also loved the entire process required to put on a Broadway show, including what happened backstage.

"Oh yes, I've had to take intro courses in acting, costuming, the tech disciplines, just so I have an overview of what those jobs require. Kind of hard to manage others doing those jobs if I have no idea what they're doing. And I've taken a lot of stage management. I may actually end up going in that direction. I've stage managed a couple of shows at school this year, and found out that I really like to be the one running the show backstage."

"Came as no surprise to me when she was a natural at it," Mike winked at him. "She can be really bossy when she sets her mind on something." This earned him a slap on the arm, and Kurt smiled at their antics, easy and secure in the way they teased each other.

Broadway wasn't the only dream he'd had for New York that was harder than he'd thought it would be. He'd moved here for the theatre scene, yes, but also for its large gay community. He'd never had a chance to date at all in high school. He'd been the only openly gay kid in the whole school. College had been little better. Between classes, performing as much as he could, and helping his dad at the garage on weekends, his social life had been limited. He'd dated a couple guys there, but never considered either of the relationships serious.

But the lack of experience left him floundering in New York's dating scene, and though it seemed that half the guys he waited with at auditions were gay, that didn't seem like an environment that lent itself well to finding a date. So he sat across from this happy couple, sipping his coffee and smiling, and wondered when he might get a chance to experience such a relationship for himself.

* * *

"Hey, Chandler." Kurt greeted a familiar face as he entered yet another long hallway filled with hopeful performers. He'd been to enough of these auditions now that he was starting to recognize a few faces. Most of them rebuked his attempts at conversation, seeming to take the attitude that anyone they were competing against had to be the enemy. But a few were friendly, if reserved. Some, like him, were new to this game and seemed willing to make friends. But even then, it seemed they always had plans after the audition. They had all been in the city for months longer than him, sometimes years. Some of them were seasoned veterans, though he didn't run into as many of those as he only went to open auditions. Most were like him, new in town and trying to get that one role that would land them a coveted Equity card.

He sometimes had better luck with the girls who were auditioning, since they knew they wouldn't be in direct competition with him. He'd gone out with a couple of them after auditions or dance classes.

This guy was somewhat receptive, though it seemed their conversations consisted mostly of him talking about himself. At least he was someone to talk to. They'd chatted at the last audition they'd both attended, where both of them had ended up on the sidewalk feeling as though they might as well have REJECT stamped on their foreheads.

"So how's it looking in there today?" Kurt asked as he signed in. Number 180 today. He was getting better at finding out about auditions early and getting here early.

"You know….same old thing each time. But you never know, today could be the day! I'm going to do Corner of the Sky, how about you?"

"I think I'll go with Mr. Cellophane. I can sing the entire thing in falsetto, really show off my range."

"Next group!" the moderator called.

"Are we doing dance first or singing first?"

"Dance."

Kurt groaned at the news. "I hate the auditions where we do dancing first. It's my weakest point and I never get a chance to sing for them or read any lines."

"We better get used to it, this is just life for a couple Broadway gypsies like us. We hear no more often than yes."

Sure enough, after the dance auditions he was dismissed. Using that as his motivation, he headed uptown to see what classes were available this afternoon. After taking a jazz class, he had just enough time to rush home for a shower and change of clothes before he had to be at the Stardust Diner for his shift there.

He'd been so excited at first to get the job here. A waiting job where he could also sing? How cool was that? It would be unheard of in Lima, OH. Surely Broadway directors frequented this diner all the time, they came here looking for talent, right? One of them would see him belting out "Not the Boy Next Door" or "Some People" and he'd get discovered. And it didn't have to be a lead role they offered him, really. He'd just love to make his living as a Broadway performer. Someone just needed to give him a chance to show what he could do.

But working at the diner ended up being very clique-ish. He thought he'd left that behind in high school, but apparently not. The performers/waiters who'd been there the longest hogged all the mic time and left the real work—waiting tables—to the newbies. It sucked, it truly did, to be breaking his back carrying heavy trays of overpriced burgers and fries and frou-frou salads, and listen to someone else singing a song that he just _knew_ he could sing better. He finished work each night in a stew of frustration. Just like he left each audition-prematurely in his opinion—frustrated and discouraged.

But what were his other options? To go home and work in his dad's garage? Not that there was anything wrong with being a mechanic, but he knew it wasn't for him. And as much as he missed his dad, he couldn't fathom spending his life in Lima. No, this was where he needed to be, even if it was hard sometimes. He was sure he'd catch his break eventually. And when he stood on stage waiting for the curtain to go up for his first opening night, it would all be worth it.

He pushed through the doors of the Stardust Diner and resigned himself to another evening of listening to others perform while he did the real work. At least it kept food in the fridge and a roof over his head.

* * *

It wasn't any sort of premeditated plan to get to the theatre as early as he did. The few opportunities he'd had prior to moving here to see shows on Broadway, he'd always arrived as early as possible, one of the first to enter when they opened the doors. He'd spend the time before the show browsing the merchandise in the lobby—though he usually couldn't afford anything—and reading his Playbill once he got to his seat. He'd inhale the cast bios, taking note of how many credits a performer had accumulated on their way to this role. If they had any television or movie credits, he'd take note of those, thinking that he might look for their film work later if he really liked them in the show. He initiate a conversation with the people sitting next to him, if they seemed open. And admire the architecture of the theatre, take in what he could see of the set on the stage or anything of visual interest on the curtain. It was all part of the experience for him.

Today, however, he arrived early because he had nothing else to do, depressingly enough. His dad had sent him a Broadway gift certificate for his birthday, and although one part of Kurt really appreciated his dad knowing him so well, another part wanted to tell his dad how much he could have used something practical, like a gift card to a grocery store. But he wasn't going to make his dad feel bad about selecting the wrong gift, so he'd simply thanked him and told himself it had been a long time since he'd been able to attend a show instead of uselessly auditioning for them.

So for lack of anything better to do that day, he arrived early. The lines hadn't even started to form yet. Sighing, he entered the first set of doors which were open to allow access to the box office, and leaned against a wall to wait. At least it was warm in here. The calendar said it was spring, but apparently Mother Nature hadn't gotten the memo yet.

"Kurt?" A female voice caught his attention.

Tina stood before him in an usher's uniform, the door to the house swinging shut behind her.

"Hey. I didn't know you worked here."

"Just started. I'm an usher for now, but hoping I'll be able to work my way up into junior management. Give me a sec."

She walked over to the box office and had a short conversation with the woman behind the glass, taking an envelope through the opening and then heading back to Kurt. "I have to deliver this to the theatre manager, so I don't have much time, but how have you been?"

"I'm, uhh….." He meant to say, fine, great, whatever customary response came out, but couldn't do it. He found himself instead telling the truth. "Getting kind of discouraged. It's been six months of auditions now and not even close to getting my first role."

"I'm sorry."

"I was whining to my Dad a few days ago about wanting to give up, that's when he sent me a gift card so I could see a show. I think he wanted me to remember what I liked about Broadway."

"I know it's hard. Mike auditioned for months too, the entire time he was at ABA and then for months after he finished the program there, before he got even a small part."

"But he's a much better dancer than me, so I'm sure that helped him. How's he doing?"

"He's good, he just got a role in _Newsies_. Ensemble, but it's his first paying job so he's ecstatic."

"That's great," Kurt said, surprised himself to realize that he felt completely sincere. Mike was one of the first people to be friendly toward him here, so Kurt really did wish him the best. "Tell him I said congratulations."

"I will. Sorry, but I have to go. Pre-show meeting in five."

"Great seeing you, Tina."

"You too, Kurt. Good luck." She slipped through the door and was gone, giving him a brief glimpse of the interior before the door swung shut again.

He was struck by an impulse, and looked quickly toward the ticket takers in the box office. One had his back to the windows, looking for something in a cabinet drawer. The other was speaking to a customer at the will-call window, and when she turned to rifle through the stack of tickets, he seized his chance. Opening the door quickly, he stepped inside, making sure the door closed completely behind him.

He stayed in the shadows to avoid the attention of the tech crew on stage. As long as he didn't make any noise, he doubted they'd see him all the way at the back of the house, and the people more likely to be moving through this area—the usher staff—were all at the pre-performance meeting, according to Tina. So he let himself stand in the shadows and just breathe, feeling the theatre breathe with him.

He'd encountered reactions ranging from blank looks to outright ridicule when he'd tried to explain to others what he felt when he stood in an empty theatre. It wasn't quite the same at the moment, with the crew going through their final preparations, calling back and forth. But it was as close as he'd been able to get for a long time.

When the theatre was completely empty, when he had a chance to stand in the house or on the stage by himself, close his eyes and just exist, he swore he could feel the air vibrating around him. It was as if all the energy of past performances, the echoes of applause, the collective heartbeat of everyone who'd ever performed there gave the building its own pulse. Feeling that was one of the reasons he'd always felt so sure that his future lay in the theatre world. He belonged here, where he could feel that anticipation of a performance about to happen.

A group in usher uniforms came up the aisle, chattering amongst themselves and carrying stacks of Playbills. He quietly opened the door and slipped back out. The lobby was now full of people waiting to enter the house, blocking him from the view of the box office. One gray-haired couple gave him a look as he exited the closed area, but he simply smiled at them and walked away.

The show was fantastic, and by the time he headed home he realized that his dad had known what he needed most after all. He'd needed a reminder of why he was here doing this, why he was working so hard and suffering so much rejection. His dream was out there, he just had to go get it.


	2. Chapter 2

"How's it goin', kid?"

He could only see one side of his dad's mouth and chin in the upper right corner of the screen.

"Adjust your screen, Dad. I can't see your face."

Fumbling sounds over the microphone as the picture shook and then settled again, more centered now.

"Better?"

"Yeah." But now he was almost wishing he hadn't asked him to adjust it because now that he could see into his dad's eyes, he realized he'd been found out. He never could hide anything from his dad.

"What's going on, Kurt?"

He sighed, not even attempting to evade. "The usual. Going on auditions and not getting the part, not even getting a callback for that matter. Not even getting to finish my sixteen bars of singing. Someone at an audition the other day said rejection was just part of life for a Broadway gypsy, but I don't think I can even call myself that yet. I have to actually _perform_ on Broadway before I can claim that name."

"Kurt, what the hell is a gypsy?"

He blinked, having zoned out a bit during his tirade, and focused on his dad again. "Oh, it's just….a chorus performer, you know, those singers and dancers who make up the ensemble of a show but aren't the stars."

"OK. So why not just call them the chorus?"

"Well, you do, but gypsies are another name. They're called that because they travel around from show to show. Travelers…gypsies, get it?"

"I'll take your word for it."

"So I spend my days auditioning and my nights working at the diner, the one place where I thought I'd get to perform, only to be upstaged there as well. And I swear, if I have to listen to that one guy sing Javert's Soliloquy one more time, I might pull a Javert myself."

"Do I want to know what pulling a Javert is?"

He quirked a small smile. "He committed suicide by throwing himself off a bridge into the River Seine."

"Oh, if that's all."

"Wow, thanks for your concern," he retorted.

"Kurt….you're a Hummel. It's not in you to give up. I know you're going to make this work. So you're not off to a flying start, so what? You didn't think it was going to be easy, did you?"

"No," he admitted. "It's just…..I didn't think it would be this hard either."

"So what is it that's got you down? Is it because you haven't won a Tony yet?"

"You remembered the name of the award, well done."

"I do listen to you Kurt, even if it doesn't seem like I get it. I know what the Tonys are."

"I told someone once that I wanted to win a Tony by the time I was twenty-five," he confessed wistfully.

"Maybe you're looking at little too far into the future, bud. Slow down, look at right now." Kurt refocused on his dad's face, grainy on the Skype screen.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," his dad said with exaggerated patience, "stop thinking about playing the big role, having your name in lights, and winning awards. What you need right now is a foot in the door, right? You just need that one boss guy to notice you, give you a chance. Just one job. Just to get started."

"What do you think I've been doing for the past six months, Dad?"

"Have you really tried everything, Kurt?"

"Short of stalking the directors, yeah, I have."

"Well, I wouldn't recommend stalking. I don't want to bail you out of jail. But there must be a way to get their attention outside of the audition."

Kurt's mouth quirked.

"Well, legend has it that a young Robert de Niro once dressed as a delivery man so he could personally hand a priority letter to a casting director. He was that desperate to get an audience with her."

His dad chuckled. "And what happened?"

"Well, she didn't have a part for him at the time, but she gave him points for originality and kept his resume on file. When a part came up that fit him, she remembered him and gave him a call."

"See? He went above and beyond, and he made it in the end. But he was desperate once too."

"Yeah." Kurt nodded, staring off over his computer screen.

"You're already plotting, aren't you? I know that look." He shook his finger at him through the screen.

"Yeah, I suppose I am. I can't use that same trick, but there must be something."

"You'll make it work, kid. I wouldn't have bought you a plane ticket to New York if I didn't think you'd make it."

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

The staff at the coffee shop were starting to eye him. Even by their standards, where they were accustomed to customers who spent a couple hours chatting or working on their computers, he'd been here a long time. He shifted uncomfortably. He really needed to hit the bathroom after all the coffee he'd drunk, but was hesitant to move from his spot by the window. Just a little while longer. He took another sip of his now luke-warm coffee, eyes fixed on the stage door across the street.

It opened, finally, and Kurt stood to get a better look. Yes, that was definitely him, pushing himself out the doorway. Kurt had seen his picture in a couple Playbills of shows he'd attended. A petite blond woman walked next to him with a stack of folders in her arms.

Kurt dropped money on the table and grabbed the Tupperware container he'd brought with him, looking both ways before crossing even though this was a relatively quiet street. Jogging, he caught up to the couple.

"Excuse me, Mr. Abrams?"

The man slowed his wheelchair and executed a quarter turn, while the woman looked over her shoulder with suspicion.

"May I help you?" she asked. She took one sideways step, moving just enough that she stood between Kurt and the person he'd waited hours to talk to.

He took a breath, mentally chiding himself not to mess this up. "I'd like a word with Mr. Abrams if I may."

"I'm Ms. Wilde, his assistant, and all appointments go through me."

"In that case, I'd love to speak to you as well," Kurt smiled at her, switching gears quickly as he sized her up and realized that he didn't want to get on her bad side. She probably attended all auditions and could be a deciding factor in which performers got the director's attention. "I don't need an appointment, Ms. Wilde, just two minutes."

"It's all right, Kitty," Mr. Abrams said. Kitty Wilde? What the hell kind of name was that, he wondered, as the director rolled forward and reached out to stroke the assistant's arm in a familiar way. Were they a couple? "We don't have much time, but how can we help you?"

"I'm Kurt Hummel," he introduced himself, holding a hand out to each of them in turn. The director smiled as he returned the shake, but the assistant only side-eyed him when he held a hand out to her, causing him to draw it back quickly. "I'll be auditioning for you tomorrow when you cast for The Little Mermaid. And I just wanted to introduce myself in advance and give you these," he held out the Tupperware box to the director.

Ms. Wilde intercepted it and peeked under the lid. "Cookies, Mr. Hummel?" she asked in contempt. "Do you really think you can get a part in a show by bribing the director with cookies?"

"What kind of cookies?" Mr. Abrams asked, his eyes bright with interest behind his glasses.

She heaved a put-upon sigh and took the lid the rest of the way off, holding the box low enough for him to see.

"Hershey kiss drop cookies, peanut butter with orange zest frosting, sour cream chocolate chip, orange cranberry," Kurt listed as the director reached in and chose one, giving it a cautious bite.

"Hmm, that's really good. Did you make these?" he asked before adding to Ms. Wilde, "you should try one."

"Yes, I baked all of them, and I had to fight my roommates off with a spatula once they smelled them in the oven."

"So you stalk us on the street and give sugary bribes, what do you want exactly?" the assistant asked. She still hadn't tried a cookie. "A box of cookies won't get you a Broadway contract."

"Honestly, all I'm hoping for is that when I walk into the audition room tomorrow, you'll remember me. And let me finish my sixteen bars of music." She raised an eyebrow. "Really, that's all I want. I've been auditioning for roles for months, but no one will even give me a chance to show what I can do. They take one look at me and decide I'm not the right type, or dismiss me based on nothing other than I'm a new face in town. All I want is a fair audition."

He finished his little speech and waited, while they communicated with a look.

"What did you say your name was again?" Mr. Abrams asked.

"Kurt Hummel," he pronounced clearly. "I'm a countertenor."

"Countertenor?" Ms. Wilde repeated, looking interested for the first time. "Not every day we hear one of those. How high can you sing?"

"You'll find out at my audition," he answered slyly, feeling for the first time as if he might have hooked them, in however small a way.

"Then I guess we'll see you tomorrow morning," Mr. Abrams responded, holding out a hand again. "Nice to meet you Mr. Hummel."

"Thank you for your time," he said as he shook the director's hand, then risked holding out a hand to Ms. Wilde as well. She took it, only shaking once before letting go but he considered it progress.

* * *

"Dad! It worked!" he nearly shouted the instant his face appeared on the screen.

"What worked?" His dad was looking off to one side, as if multi-tasking while they talked.

"The trick, you told me I should try everything to get the director's attention."

"That's my boy!" He had his full attention now. "Did you pull a de Niro?" his dad asked, grinning.

"Nah, that's been done. I baked cookies. And I waited till the director came out of the theatre, and walked over to introduce myself and gave him a container full of cookies. And told him—and his assistant—that all I wanted was a chance to finish my audition."

"And?"

"When I walked into the audition this morning, they both greeted me by name. By name, Dad." He felt the need to repeat it, remembering even now the elation of being called by name after months of being a number. "They remembered me from yesterday, and remembered that I said I was a countertenor, and the assistant said 'I hope you're going to show us those high notes now'. The director even said he'd let me do the _whole_ song, and you don't know how unusual that is, Dad. So I did 'Not the Boy Next Door', and it has a high G at the end, and I nailed it!" He bounced in his seat.

"That's great! So what'd they say?"

"That they were impressed with my singing, my flexibility, and my baking," Kurt laughed, too happy to hold it in. "The assistant handed my Tupperware back to me as I left, and the guy going in to audition next gave me the weirdest look when I came out. I told him that all the best auditions were getting free Tupperware today."

His dad laughed, his expression saying 'only my son' but he was also proud and happy for him. "So when will you find out if you got the part?"

"Probably not for a week or so. They'll have auditions for a couple more days, then start callbacks, then make their final decisions."

"Well, good lu—I mean, break a leg at the callbacks."

"Thanks, Dad. Thanks for always believing in me."

* * *

So this was the glamour of Broadway….playing an eel in a children's show. But hey, it paid.

One of the fringe benefits of the job was getting to work with Mercedes Jones, who played Ursula. They'd bonded quickly when he'd complimented her hair accessory the first day.

"Hey, Kurt! Wait up!" Mercedes called to him. "Got a question for you," she said as they exited the theatre after rehearsal. "I heard through the grapevine that you're looking for a new place to live."

"Yeah, I am. I'm in an apartment with three other guys and it's ok, but one of them is a total perv and he's making me uncomfortable. Do you know a place?"

"Just so happens I do," she answered smugly. "One of my roommates gave up on Broadway and went home to Hicksville, so we're looking for a new person to fill the empty spot in our loft. The sooner the better."

"Where is it?" he asked. "And who are your roommates, do I know any of them?"

"Rachel Berry is one, she said you started working at the diner right before she took leave from there. So technically, you were co-workers, but only for a couple days. "

Right. That's why the name rang a bell. During the brief time he'd known her, she had given him the impression of quite a diva. Given that Mercedes gave him the same impression—though not as insufferable about it-and Kurt considered himself to be a diva as well, he wondered how all those strong personalities would get along in a single apartment.

"You and Rachel, uh?" She nodded. "Anyone else?"

"And Santana Lopez. She's an actress too, well for now she is. She's doing the West Side Story revival over at the Palace."

Kurt wondered about the 'for now' but only nodded.

"So that's it, the four of us would be sharing the place. Want to come by and see it?"

Kurt felt himself nodding. "OK, why not? I'll give it a look."

Her face lit up in a way that he usually didn't get to see, since he spent more time watching her portray a villainous sea witch than being herself.

"Do you….have time now? We can hop the subway and be there in forty minutes."

Kurt grinned back. He just couldn't help it, he really enjoyed being around Mercedes and was grateful every day that he had her as a cast mate on his first show.

"Why not?"

* * *

He was rather dreading announcing to his current roommates that he intended to move out, and was already worrying about how he would pay his last month's rent there and his first month's rent at the Brooklyn loft simultaneously, but it all turned out to be easier than he thought. When he approached Rory, an Irish exchange student, first, it turned out that he'd met someone at his college program who was looking for a place to live ASAP. The friend had become unhappy living in the dorms and was ready to pay deposit on a new place immediately if he could move in immediately. So Kurt quickly started packing his things, not even waiting to inform the creeper roommate and self-appointed manager of the apartment, Sebastian. He had to pay for a cab to take him and his several suitcases out to Brooklyn, and once there called Mercedes. She came down with the other two girls to help him carry his things up, and just like that, he had a new address.

Over the next few days, Kurt found that living with three female roommates had a much different energy to it than living with male roommates. There was more squabbling over things like bathroom time and shelf space for beauty products, but far fewer dirty clothes on the floor and loud belching. There was less delivery pizza and more vegan food, thanks to Rachel's special diet. Though it took him a few days to get into the rhythm of it, after a while he adapted.

Another thing that was different at the Brooklyn loft, was that for the first time he was rooming with people who were all Broadway performers like himself. So for the first time since arriving in New York, Kurt found himself living with roommates who all came and went at approximately the same times. Not always, of course. Given the precarious nature of Broadway work, there was usually someone out of a job at any given moment, and that person would either spend long stretches of time at home or come and go on an odd schedule based on auditions. And they all worked other jobs—himself and Rachel at the diner, Santana at a bar and Mercedes at a recording studio as a backup singer. Still, there were the nights when they all stumbled in around 11:30 or midnight, exhausted but still buzzed from the evening's performance, and sat around till the wee hours drinking cheap wine, eating pizza (they did order delivery sometimes) and trading stories about the different shows they'd worked on.

"God no, I never planned to be a Broadway performer," Santana said, taking a large bite of her meat-lovers pizza and ignoring the judgmental look Rachel sent her way. "I came to New York because it was the only place I could think of that might be big enough for me, because that crap town where I grew up definitely wasn't."

"So what happened?" Kurt asked. "Most people don't just stumble into a Broadway career." How was it she could get cast on Broadway when she hadn't even planned on it, while he struggled just to get noticed?

"_Bring It On_ happened," Mercedes answered for her, while Santana chewed and swallowed.

"I told her about it," Rachel said. "When they were holding auditions for the original cast, I told Santana that she should try out, because I knew she'd been a cheerleader in high school."

"Whose story is this?" Santana demanded, and took a sip of Coke. "So like they said, I was a cheerleader in high school. And our squad was one of the few claims to fame that pathetic school had. Our coach was a slave driver and made sure we were the best. She had the National Championship trophies to prove it. So I already had the cheer skills, and how many Broadway performers have that on their resume?"

"So that was a stroke of luck for you. Have you done other shows too?"

"Just one more. I didn't know if I wanted to do another show after _Bring It On_, honestly. I went back to work at the bar and didn't audition for anything else for a year. But then Mercedes told me that _West Side Story_ was casting, and I played Anita in high school. I thought, how many shows have an all Latino cast? The revival was even being performed in Spanish, at least part of it. How many other chances like that would I get? So I tried out and got an ensemble part." She shrugged. "The Broadway thing seems to be working for me pretty well so far, I'll stick with it till I stop getting roles or get tired of it."

"So you never really planned on a Broadway career," he mused, more than a little jealous of her easy success. "And you didn't either, right?" he asked Mercedes.

"Not really. I mean, I wasn't against it, but I really want to be a recording artist. Want to record my own music. I dream of the day I'm walking down the street and a car passes by blasting my voice."

"So what happened?"

"Kind of the same thing that happened to Santana, a show came along that seemed perfect for me and I couldn't resist auditioning. Motown. I couldn't believe I got it. I was just in the ensemble, but man, the rush of live performance, it was ah-mazing."

"So Motown was your first show," Kurt mused, "and then did you do another one before The Little Mermaid?"

"Nope. Just those two shows, and I think when my contract ends on Mermaid, I'll go back to the recording studio. It's been fun, but I really want to record original songs."

"So that leaves you," he said to Rachel. "You did plan on a Broadway career, right?"

"Ever since I can remember," she confirmed.

"How many shows have you done?"

"Five, counting Newsies that I'm doing right now. I was so happy to get my first featured role with this show, but I was glad it happened the way it did, starting in the ensemble and then being promoted. If I'd started in a named role, I wouldn't have gotten the Robe."

"What Robe?" he asked, not seeing Mercedes' frantic mouthing of 'no' till it was too late.

"Oh my God, do not get her started," Santana rolled her eyes.

"You've never heard of the Gypsy Robe?" Rachel said, excited. "Hold on, I'll get you a picture of mine." She jumped up and ran to her room.

"That's it, I'm going to bed and turning my fan on as loud as it'll go." Santana dumped her paper plate in the trash and swished her curtain closed behind herself.

"Why….?" Kurt looked off after Santana, hearing a fan turn on.

"Let's just say that Rachel is very proud of her Gypsy Robe and she really, really likes to talk about it," Mercedes answered. "I think I'll make my exit too," she said as Rachel came out of her room. "Goodnight you two!"

"So this is a picture of me in the Gypsy Robe," Rachel handed him a framed picture as she sat cross-legged next to him. She had that bright-eyed look that he'd already begun to associate with a certain level of fanaticism.

"So…what's this Robe all about?" He studied the picture, Rachel beaming as she modeled a large gown that dragged the floor on her petite frame. It seemed to be an odd hodge-podge of different fabrics, textures, and colors, with no thought given to making the garment look balanced in any way.

"It's to bless a production and wish the cast luck," she answered. "Every show that opens on Broadway—that is, every one that has an ensemble—gets their turn with the Robe. It's delivered on opening night of each new show, and the tradition has been going on since the 1950s. Have you never heard of the Gypsy Robe before?"

"No, and I've been a Broadway fan for as long as I can remember," Kurt answered, a bit perplexed himself.

"Well, we don't really advertise it, you know? I guess it's just something we do in the Broadway community. It's not a big televised event like the Tonys. This is something that we do just for us."

Kurt stretched his legs out, still analyzing the photo. "So why does it look like a quilt that a child made from scraps of their grandmother's robe?"

Rachel was in full-blown Professor-of-Theater-History mode now, her hands gesturing wildly. "Each production that gets the robe, adds something from their production to it. It might be swatches from the actual costumes of the show, or it might be something that the costume department makes up to symbolize the show. Either way, each costume department adds to it, and then it's passed it on to the next show for their opening night."

"This Robe looks really big, but umm…..it's got to run out of room eventually. Hold on, you said since the 1950's?"

"Yes. When a Robe gets full, then it's retired and a new one is started."

"There's more than one?"

"Oh my God, yes. There are a couple dozen by now. The retired robes are on display various places, like the Lincoln Center library, the Smithsonian, and all the rest stay at the Equity offices."

"Hmmm," was all he said, but he gave the picture one more look before handing it back to her. What would it be like to wear one of those? He'd only just found out about the Robe and now he ached to be given one. But he only stood and started putting their dishes and leftover pizza away, Rachel getting up to help. It wasn't till they were heading to their rooms that he stopped her.

"One more question. What determines who gets the robe?"

She smiled. "The performer with the most Broadway chorus credits on their resume. Keep working, Kurt. You'll get there."


	3. Chapter 3

One of the advantages of living with three roommates who were all in the theatre field like him, but had been in New York longer, was that he could benefit from their experience.

And, he was discovering, their connections and influence.

"It's not what you know or what you can do," Mercedes told him one day, when she offered to put in a good word for him with the director of her previous show. His contract at The Little Mermaid was ending soon and he was fretting over whether to stay with the show or risk finding another role. "It's who you know. "

"So you're saying talent doesn't count at all? I'm developing a lower opinion of Broadway."

"Oh no, talent matters. So does experience," Santana said, entering the room. "But what Mercedes is trying to tell you, is that sometimes it doesn't matter how talented you are, you'll never even get seen if you can't get your foot in the door."

"And that usually means knowing somebody." Mercedes said with finality.

He was still reluctant to use connections to get his big break—after all, shouldn't he be able to do it on talent alone?

But Rachel agreed with the other two as well.

"Think about it, Kurt. When you go to an open audition, you're one of hundreds of guys all auditioning for the same handful of roles. The audition panel sits there all day and unless you want to camp out on the sidewalk overnight to be one of the first they see, by the time they hear you they're already jaded and tired. You're not going to catch your big break that way. All Mercedes was offering to do was get you an audition. A private audition, where the director is looking at only you, knowing you've been personally recommended by someone who is themselves very talented."

"Is that how you got your break?" Kurt asked.

"No, not for me. But I had the advantage of going to school here in New York. So I had four years to make contacts, to go on auditions. By the time I graduated, the directors already knew me. You're new in town."

He was still unconvinced.

"You remember that I was the one who told Santana about the Bring It On auditions? Well, it was a little more than that. I knew the choreographer from a previous show I'd done, and told her that I knew Santana could do the part in spite of her lack of experience. Santana doesn't like to dwell on the help I gave her, but it's true."

"She's extremely talented." They'd had a few impromptu sing-alongs in the apartment.

"Yes, she is. And so are you. But everyone needs a little help, Kurt. Don't turn down Mercedes' offer. Santana and I both have our eyes open for opportunities for you as well. "

So he took Mercedes up on her offer and auditioned with her director. He didn't get the role, for that particular show had a mostly black cast with only a handful of roles available for a "skinny white boy," as she called him.

Still, he had to admit that it was nice to simply show up for an audition and walk right in, shake hands with the director who greeted him by name, to be told that she'd heard good things about him before they even met.

After his audition, she complimented his singing range and acting skills.

"I don't know if we have a role open in this show for you, Mr. Hummel, but I'm impressed and I'll definitely keep you in mind in the future."

The audition boosted his confidence and he let Rachel and Santana know that they could recommend away if they thought they could secure another audition for him.

It was while he was in this state of mind that he saw Mike one day at Broadway Dance Center.

"Hey Mike, how's it going? " They shook hands in greeting. "I ran into Tina and she told me you were cast in Newsies, congratulations."

"I was," he replied, "but I had to end my contract early due to an injury."

"Oh no, what happened?"

"Nothing major, it was just a bad ankle sprain. At least it wasn't a broken leg or similar. But since I was two weeks from the end of my contract, they just ended it early and told me to come back and re-audition after my ankle was better."

"It must be, if you're here to take a class."

"Oh yeah, it's about 90% better. But I'm starting back slowly so I'm here to take a beginner's class. "

Turned out they were in the same class. Kurt had arrived in New York with only basic dance training and quickly realized he needed to improve his dance skills, so he'd been a regular at BDC. Even so, the 'beginner' level classes were all he could handle. He'd quickly learned that 'beginner' at BDC meant you were assumed to already have a few years of dance training. But he'd been working hard at it and hopefully the hard work was paying off.

After the class, Mike said he was 'not bad' and spent a few minutes in the hallway showing him how to improve his turns and jumps.

"You're not a bad teacher, Mike," Kurt said, still breathing hard from the class followed by the impromptu private lesson. "Do you ever teach private lessons?"

And so it was that he started taking private lessons with Mike a couple times a week, trading voice lessons in compensation. Mike was glad to do it for now, since it was something he could do to make money while unable to audition for dance roles himself. He started teaching Kurt the choreography to the big dance numbers in Newsies, which were still fresh in his mind.

By the end of several weeks, he announced that he'd recommend Kurt to the Newsies casting director if he wanted to audition for it.

"I think it'd be a great show for you. They're always casting for it, because the show is so intense that not many people can do it for longer than a six month contract. They need guys who look younger than they are—you definitely qualify—and can sing and dance. I knew you could sing already, but you were weak in the dance. With my tutelage, you've improved greatly, and you already know some of the choreography. I think you'd be great."

* * *

Kurt got up from his table as others around him filed out, getting ready for the opening scene. He grabbed his own newsboy cap and made sure it was held securely in place with bobby pins.

As he made his way to the stage, the intercom came on, relaying the stage manager's words both backstage and throughout the front of house: "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for attending our new production of Newsies. Cell phones, pagers, and other modern noise making devices didn't exist in 1899, so please turn off all such devices and enjoy the show."

On the dim stage Kurt positioned himself against a pole of the scaffolding that made up the newsboys' 'home' and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. The murmur of the crowd quieted following the announcement and he heard the swish of the curtain going up. He forced himself to keep his breaths even and deep, simulating sleep, even though what he wanted to do was jump up and down in elation. Soon, he promised himself. This show had plenty of opportunities to jump around ecstatically. He'd definitely be in the mood for it when the time came.

* * *

"Oh my God, Kurt! You'll never believe which show they're casting for next spring!" Rachel slid the door closed behind her and almost skipped over to where he sat on the couch, computer on his lap as he updated his resume.

"What's that?" he asked idly. The Little Mermaid, ensemble. Newsies, ensemble. Book of Mormon, ensemble. Jersey Boys, ensemble. When did he get to add a leading role to his resume? Even just a named character? It'd been almost three years since he arrived in New York and was rejected from his first audition before even getting a chance to sing.

His screen came down, almost smashing his fingers. Rachel stood there with a pissed look. She didn't particularly like being ignored and he knew it, but he wasn't going to get too worked up over whatever piece of backstage gossip Rachel had, till he heard what it was. The theatre world was notoriously gossipy and rumors of new shows and casting calls circulated every day.

"Guess!" she demanded.

"Rachel, I'm busy here, updating my resume. I don't want to guess," he groused. She looked crestfallen. He rolled his eyes. "Give me a clue at least. Revival or new show?"

"New," she beamed.

"Do we know the names of any of the creative team?"

"Hmm…..well, the composer is this little known guy by the name of Alan Menken."

"Whoa, as in all those Disney movies? As in Newsies? As in Little Shop of Horrors? THAT Alan Menken?"

"Uh-huh."

"Please tell me they're reviving Little Shop of Horrors, I would love to play Seymour."

"And if they were, I'd be your Audrey. But no. Not that one, not a revival at all. A new show, although…..it has been seen before by millions."

Kurt thought for a second before it dawned. "They're adapting another Disney movie for the stage? Which one?" His mind went racing, trying to remember all the movies Menken had composed for Disney. "They've already adapted Newsies," he counted off on his fingers, "and Beauty and the Beast, and The Little Mermaid, so that leaves….." He looked at her hopefully.

"A whole new world!" She burst out singing, flinging her arms out and spinning in a circle. "A dazzling place I never knew!" She grabbed his hand, "Come on, sing it with me!"

Kurt almost got caught up in her enthusiasm before he realized, digging in his heels and refusing to twirl with her. "Rachel, that's great for you, and I hope you'll try out for Jasmine because you'd be great in that role."

"Oh, I definitely will. And you'll audition too, right?"

"Rachel, look at me, then think about what kind of actors they'll be looking for in Aladdin. They need people with black hair and dark skin tones. I'm as pale as Casper the Ghost in the winter, and not much different in the summer thanks to sun block. They'd never cast me in Aladdin, not even for the chorus."

"That's why stage makeup was invented!" she exclaimed, undeterred.

"Yes, but my point is that they'll take one look at me when I walk into the audition room and say, 'sorry, you're not what we're looking for'."

Her shoulders slumped. "Okay, yeah. That might happen. But you'll still audition, right? We'll go together, and keep each other company while we wait our turn. You never know, even if you're not right for this show, there might be someone at the audition who hears you and decides you're just right for another show they're involved with. Always audition for everything, Kurt."

* * *

By some strange alignment of the stars over the Great White Way, all of the roommates in the Bushwick loft were either out of work, or anticipated that they would be soon, when the date arrived for the Aladdin auditions. Santana had gotten into a fight with a customer at the bar where she worked and was currently without employment, so said she'd give Broadway another try. Mercedes was simply looking for some musical variety after singing 'oohs' and 'ahhs' for days on end in the recording studio. So they all set off together in the chilly autumn dawn to travel downtown and spend what would probably be a very long day auditioning.

They signed in, and what followed was the predictable long hours of waiting. It was Kurt's opinion that this was one reason the Broadway community was so closely knit and by extension, so hard to break into. When they weren't rehearsing together, they were waiting for auditions together. Many of them chose to room with other Broadway performers, for it was simply difficult for those outside the career to understand the odd hours, the pressures, and the obsession over maintaining their bodies and voices.

_What do you mean, you can't eat a pizza? You had pizza just last night?_

_But I have an audition tomorrow, and the dairy is bad for my voice._

_You Broadway people are weird. _

After the first eliminations—which involved learning a group dance number and miraculously, all four of them survived—Kurt was separated from the girls and sent to a different studio to continue his audition process while they went to lunch. He'd get his break next. He considered it a good sign that they were getting a lunch break, it showed that the people in charge of the show thought of things like that.

He entered the studio for his individual singing audition, and immediately felt better about his prospects at this audition. He smiled at the two people at the center of the audition panel.

"Mr. Abrams, Ms. Wilde, great to see you again."

* * *

"Dad! Dad! You'll never guess!"

"You got cast in another show? Congratulations."

"Not just any show, Dad. A brand-new Disney show, and I get to be in the original cast!"

"Along with your roommates," called Rachel from the kitchen.

"And that's the other good news, Dad. All my roommates got parts as well. We're all going to be working on the same show—though come to think of it, not sure if that's a good or bad thing. We might kill each other if we have to be together 24/7."

"Sounds a lot like being married. You got something you want to tell me, Kurt? Is polygamy legal in New York?"

"Ha. Like I'd be interested in your lily-white ass." Santana strolled in from her room and leaned over Kurt's shoulder to address his dad on the screen. All his roommates had gotten accustomed to his frequent Skype calls with his dad, and it wouldn't be the first time they'd intruded on the conversation. "Hi, Mr. Hummel. Glad you have such a high opinion of your son's stamina, but I like my dates with boobs."

"I stand corrected," his dad answered, not ruffled in the least. "Congratulations on your new role."

Rachel pushed Santana aside before she could even say thank you, so she could see the screen. "Did Kurt tell you, Mr. Hummel? I got the lead! I'm playing Jasmine!"

"Congratulations," he responded, though Kurt knew his dad didn't have any idea which character Rachel was talking about.

Mercedes came out of the bathroom, leaning over Kurt's other shoulder to wave at the screen. "Hi, Mr. Hummel!"

"OK, enough!" Kurt finally stood. "Stop stealing my dad, I want to talk to him!" He took his laptop with him and swished his curtain closed. On the screen his dad was smiling.

"They're all just excited about their new show, just like you."

"Yeah, but you're _my_ dad and if I can't find the time or money to come home for a visit, I at least want to talk to you." He flopped across his bed, looking closely at his dad for the first time. "Dad, are you okay? You look tired."

"Kurt, you gotta stop worrying about me so much. I'm fine, I've just been staying late at the garage this week doing inventory and a truck came in right before close last night that the owner insisted he needed back ASAP. He was willing to pay extra for a rush job, so I didn't get much sleep."

"I don't want you to push yourself so hard, Dad. I really appreciate you helping me out with rent while I got started here, but I've been working pretty steady for a while now. You don't have to keep working so hard on account of me, slow down. I worry about you."

"You worry and nag from New York, Carole worries and nags me right here in my own house….if my ticker doesn't do me in, the two of you will."

"Daaaad…."

"Kurt, I'm fine, I promise. Carole looks after me as much as you ever did. You're supposed to be living your own life in New York as a big Broadway performer, not worrying about me."

"Okay," Kurt conceded finally. He knew when to stop pushing, the point at which his dad would stop listening to him. He'd have to call Carole later and get the real story from her, on whether his dad was eating right and taking care of his heart.

"So tell me about this new role of yours," his dad said. It was a distraction tactic and Kurt knew it, but this time he didn't mind.

* * *

The Aladdin to Rachel's Jasmine was Blaine Anderson. Kurt saw him during the table read, and had to remind himself not to stare too much, but then didn't see him for a couple weeks, as the leads rehearsed their scenes in one studio and the ensemble worked on the big group dance numbers in another. Rachel had seemed quite taken with him from the first rehearsal they had together and had waxed poetic about his many fine attributes when she came home each evening. During the second week, she came home deflated.

"I should have known it was too good to be true," she sighed mournfully. "A guy that good–looking, with a voice strong enough to keep up with me musically, and I don't even have to put a crick in my neck to look up at him. But I just never got the vibe from him, you know?"

"Gay?" Santana guessed.

"Of course he is, it's Broadway. You should keep your eye on him though Kurt, when we all start rehearsing together. He hasn't mentioned dating anyone, so he's probably available…." she trailed off in a suggestive sing-song.

He'd scoffed at her, saying he'd hardly have time to date with their packed rehearsal schedule, but the first time the leads joined them in the studio to show what they'd been working on, and he had an excuse to stare at him, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Rachel was right, the man was unfairly good looking. And he had undeniable stage presence, though his voice wasn't quite as strong as Rachel's and she tended to drown him out whenever Artie didn't admonish her to rein in her power pipes. Kurt suspected that Blaine's 'look' had something to do with him being cast as Aladdin. With black hair and a golden dark complexion, he wouldn't require much makeup to make him look like someone of Middle Eastern descent. Rachel had the same advantage, though Kurt would never dare suggest to her that she got her first Broadway lead due to anything other than sheer talent.

Their Genie was a dark-skinned actress who referred to herself as Unique, though curiously, her name on the sign-in sheet by the stage door said "Wade Adams." Kurt was curious about the mixture of male and female names but didn't feel he could ask her about them. She brought a different energy to the Genie than he'd imagined, making him somehow 'other' but still relatable.

The first time he heard the actor playing Jafar reading lines at their first table reading, he couldn't quite wrap his brain around the similarity in vocal style to the Jafar of the Disney movie. Asking around later, he discovered that it was the same actor.

"Must be strange to create a character with voice only, twenty years ago, and then have the chance to create him on stage as well," he remarked to Rachel as they walked to the subway late one night after rehearsals.

"But he's perfect for it, don't you think? I mean, everyone in the audience, even little kids, will immediately recognize his voice from the film. And he knows the role so well already, I think it'll be an asset to the production," she chattered, obviously still high on adrenaline from a long rehearsal.

* * *

He walked up to the stage door of the New Amsterdam, thrumming with excitement. Today was the day. After weeks of rehearsals in a studio, the cast was finally meeting at the theatre to rehearse on stage. He always loved the first day in the theatre. Being in the place where they would actually perform it, and with the benefit of the set pieces which were in place by then (mostly), it just made all of it so much more real. He knew that all three of his roommates were already here. Rachel had had the earliest call time, as one of the show's leads. Santana and Mercedes, who were playing ladies-in-waiting to Princess Jasmine, had reported a couple hours later to rehearse "These Palace Walls" with her. As a member of the ensemble with no named character to play or solo lines in any production number, Kurt wasn't needed till after the lunch break.

He pressed the button at the stage door, gave his name, and was buzzed in.

"Sign in," the guard grunted, pushing a clipboard toward him.

He wrote his name under the 'cast' side of the columned page and turned away, ready to find his way through the maze of backstage and up to the stage itself. He'd find a seat in the house and watch.

He pushed at the bar to open the door, but it didn't budge. He looked over his shoulder to ask the guard to buzz him in, but the man was giving him a _look_.

"You wanna bring bad luck on this entire show? This entire theatre and every show it'll ever have?" he asked impatiently.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't you know nothing, kid? You gotta say hello to Olive."

Kurt looked around. It was only himself and the guard in the tiny entryway.

He was almost afraid to ask. "Who's Olive?"

The guard rolled his eyes and pointed behind him, and Kurt looked over his shoulder to a picture on the wall of a young pretty woman. It was black and white and looked rather old.

"That's Olive," the guard informed him. "She's our theatre ghost, and you don't enter this theatre without saying hello to her. You also don't leave without saying good-bye to her. You understand?"

"Seriously?" Kurt asked. The guard didn't seem the type to believe in ghost stories.

"I swear, you kids should be given a Guide to New Amsterdam Theater etiquette before you're allowed to work in a show here. Yes, I'm serious. You say hello to Olive or you don't go in."

"Are all the guards as anal about this as you?" Kurt asked.

"Anal? Son, this ain't anal, this is scared. You trying being snarky about ghosts after you actually see one."

"You've seen her? For real?"

"I have. And I was the biggest cynic you ever saw about all this foolishness, laughed at the cast every day when they came in and said hello to a picture on the wall. Till I saw her. And now, Olive ain't got no bigger champion than me. So you show her respect, and greet her as you enter. "

"That's it?" Just say hello?" Kurt asked. "There's no song to sing or ritual to perform? Should I bow?"

"Laugh all you want kid, but you ain't going by here till you acknowledge her. And yes, all you have to do is say hello. That's all.

Feeling silly, Kurt turned to the picture. He opened his mouth but then looked at the guard again. "Do you know her last name?"

"It's Thomas. Olive Thomas. But you don't need to be formal, just say hello."

"Hello, Olive," he said finally, feeling that the simple greeting was rather anti-climactic after the big scene the guard had made.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it? And don't forget to say goodbye to her when you leave, either. Every day, whether I'm here on duty or not. You say hello and goodbye. "

"Okay, I guess I can do that, if that's all it takes to keep her happy." He paused with his hand on the inner door to the theatre, which the guard had buzzed open for him. "That _is_ all, right?"

The guard shrugged again. "That, and show up for her birthday party next month."

"There's a birthday party for her?"

"Every year," he confirmed. "All the cast and crew working in the theatre have to come."

"Okay then," he said, not wanting to argue further. He opened the door and (finally) walked into the theatre.

* * *

"Did you have the same conversation I did with the guard when you came in?" he asked Rachel as they left together after eight hours of grueling rehearsal. "About saying hello to that picture?"

"You mean Olive?" she asked. "He didn't have to tell me, I already knew. I looked up the history of the New Amsterdam when I got cast and realized we'd be working here."

"So what's the deal with this Olive Thomas?"

"She was a Ziegfeld Follies girl, and worked in the New Amsterdam. Not only did she do the main stage show in the Follies, but she was also in the Midnight Follies show, which was considered very risqué and scandalous for its time. It was performed up on the roof, and there was a glass floor so the men standing on the floor below could look up the performer's skirts."

"Chauvinistic pigs," he commented.

"Of course they were, but it sold. So Olive did that, and she also posed in the nude for artworks, and she was a silent film actress."

"So what happened? Did she die onstage one night during a performance, and that's why she supposedly haunts the theatre?"

"Oh no, she died in Paris while on her honeymoon. Officially, her cause of death was an accidental overdose, but the circumstances were highly suspect and it was one of the first big Hollywood scandals."

"So her ghost came all the way back from Paris, to haunt the theatre where she worked?" Kurt asked dubiously. "I wonder if her spirit flew over the ocean or if she had to hitch a ride on a cruise liner."

"I'm of the opinion that her spirit came back to the USA with her body. She's buried in a cemetery in the Bronx. And once she got that close, well, if her spirit needed transportation it would be easy enough to take the subway, wouldn't it?"

"Or the bus, or a taxi," Kurt laughed at the absurd image of the Ziegfeld girl's ghost in the back of a New York City taxi. "So why does everyone believe she's haunting the theatre?"

"She's been seen," Rachel answered promptly. "By several different people, over a time span of decades. Almost always by men, and most often when the theatre is in a state of transition."

"Like when they're about to mount a new show?" She nodded. "No wonder the guard was so stressed about keeping her happy. Has she ever been a violent ghost?"

"Only a couple minor incidents, like the seats shaking or several light bulbs all burning out at once. Mostly, she just appears and then disappears."

"Hmmm….and has she shown herself yet during the current renovation of the theatre?"

"Not yet…..but we still have a lot of rehearsal time before opening night," Rachel smiled. "We can always hope."


	4. Chapter 4

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Olive, happy birthday to you!" The cast and crew of Aladdin, crammed into the stage door's small entryway and overflowing through the doors, burst into applause as they finished the song.

"Feels like we're applauding ourselves for singing," Kurt whispered to Rachel. "It's not like her photograph is going to give a thank-you speech."

"Well, I think our theatre is lucky to have such a famous and active ghost. And that we should honor her memory," she informed him as the theatre manager started a speech.

"We do honor her memory," Kurt replied sotto voce. "How many pictures on the wall get greeted every time someone passes by it? But don't you think the birthday party is a bit of overkill?"

"No, I don't."

They applauded again as the speech concluded, without Kurt hearing a word of it.

"If nothing else, it gives us a break from rehearsal," Blaine said from Rachel's other side, leaning around her to address Kurt. "Olive is giving us an excuse to relax for a bit and eat cake, so I'll sing the birthday song to a picture if it gives me a chance to sit down for a bit."

The theatre manager was beginning to cut the cake and the cast pressed forward as eagerly as children, taking their paper plates through to the stage to sit down and eat once they had their slice. There was a break area downstairs in the Green Room, of course, but it wasn't large enough to hold the entire cast and crew all at once and besides, the stage was closer. They were two weeks away from their first preview performance and everyone was exhausted from the rigorous rehearsal schedule that had been going on for over a month now.

"Hey, you guys! Over here!" Mercedes was waving to them from a group sitting downstage right that included Santana, Unique, Tina, and Mike. They joined them, sitting carefully with their plates and taking bites of cake.

"Everyone remembers we have hair and makeup tests tomorrow, right?" Tina asked. "So no morning rehearsal but you'll have to show up for your appointment time."

"Not looking forward to it," Kurt muttered into his cake.

"What's wrong, boo?" Mercedes asked.

"Do you have any idea how much makeup I'll have to cake on my face to get the right skin tone? Then I'll go home and exfoliate for hours to keep from breaking out. Not to mention the wig. I don't exactly look Arabian, do I?" he asked, pointing to his own face.

"So that begs the question of how you got cast, Kurt." Tina raised her eyebrows at him in invitation.

"Well…." He hedged for a moment, not sure how to answer that since he wasn't sure himself. He wasn't about to question his luck though.

"Cookies," a new voice said from above them. "He bakes really good cookies and isn't above bribery." Artie wheeled himself up, a plate balanced on his lap. Kitty came behind him with another plate and a chair, which she set down once he stopped, sitting next to him.

"You bribed the director with cookies?" Unique asked. She shifted along with the rest of the group, their circle changing shape slightly to include the new arrivals. "I've been going about this audition process all wrong."

"Yeah, when did this happen and why didn't we get any? We're your roommates, we should've gotten cookies." Mercedes leaned over Santana to swat him in the arm.

"It wasn't for this show," he defended himself, swatting her hand back. "It was when I was living with my old roommates."

"We were holding auditions the next day for _The Little Mermaid_. We were just leaving the theatre after a first meeting with the tech crew," Kitty waved her fork around as she spoke, "and walking down the sidewalk, when this voice says 'excuse me' from behind us," and she told the story, Artie interjecting a comment or two.

"See?" Kurt asked when they finished. "I didn't bribe anyone for a role, only for a fair audition. I'd been in New York for months and not once had I even made it all the way through the audition process for a show. Not one callback. I was desperate."

"Been there, done that," Mike muttered, and the rest of the group nodded in agreement.

"Well, we were happy to be the recipients of your desperate talents," Artie said, leaning over to pat his shoulder. "Both culinary and musical. So that was how he got cast for The Little Mermaid," he straightened up again, "and when we were casting for this show, we thought about who we'd enjoyed working with before, and extended an invitation to them to audition again."

"Just goes to show," Kitty licked her plastic spork, "that no matter how talented you are, it's not a good idea to be difficult to work with. There were several extremely talented people we've worked with previously, who did not get an invitation."

"I'm seeing a lot of new faces here though," Rachel commented, looking around the stage. "There are people here I've never seen or worked with in a show before."

"And I asked around, because I'm nosy like that," Santana added. "About half the ensemble is doing their first Broadway show."

"They do seem new and shiny, don't they?" Mercedes asked, scraping the last of the frosting of her plate.

"We held open auditions to fill up the rest of the ensemble," Artie explained. "We started with the idea that we wanted to work with actors we knew and enjoyed working with previously, but many of them weren't available."

"So then we decided if we couldn't get the known," Kitty said, "we wanted the hungry."

"Open casting calls for a new Disney musical. I'm so glad I didn't have to wait in that line." Mike crossed his long legs in front of him and leaned back on his hands to relax.

"Me too. I'm just glad I stayed on their good side," Unique proclaimed.

"Which show did you work with them on?" Tina asked.

"The Little Mermaid. I followed Mercedes in the Ursula role. Looooved it!" She sing-songed that last, and Kurt couldn't help laughing.

"Kurt and I went back one night to see her play it, and she was scary," Mercedes said.

"I actually saw a couple kids in the audience start crying," Kurt confirmed.

"Then I did my job well." Unique mimed buffing her fingernails.

Everyone chuckled before Kitty spoke. "I hate to break up the party, but….." she looked at Artie.

"Right. We do need to get back to rehearsal. So everyone take a few minutes to get your head back in the game, we'll start again in ten." Kitty took his plate from his lap, carrying it with hers as he traveled across the stage, calling out the ten minute warning to the rest of the cast and crew.

* * *

They'd been rehearsing all day, and Kurt wanted nothing more than to go home, take a shower, and fall into bed in hopes of recuperating before what would probably be an equally grueling rehearsal tomorrow. They started previews in just over a week and the entire cast and production crew were in a constant state of emergency, with Artie nitpicking little details, asking for the cast to run through a scene yet again so the tech crews could get the cues perfect, and the costume department putting the final touches on threadbare pants and elaborate royal robes alike.

So it was that Kurt found himself in the wardrobe department for last minute alterations to his Act I costume. He'd mentioned that his sleeves seemed a bit long, so the head costumer had called him in to look at it.

When he walked in to the huge room filled with hanging costumes, sewing machines, and bolts of fabric, he found that he wasn't the only one having last minute costume alterations tonight.

Aladdin himself stood on the short pedestal having his 'street rat' pants measured and hemmed.

"Be with you in a moment, Mr. Hummel," the costumer said around a mouthful of pins.

He nodded and sat, watching the costume designer work. As Blaine was wearing the open vest—with no shirt beneath—that made up the other half of his street rat costume, at least he had something nice to look at while waiting.

"We wouldn't have to keep hemming these pants if you weren't so short," the woman teased, smiling.

"Talk to my mom and dad about that," their lead answered easily, seemingly unperturbed by height jokes. "Besides, you measured me yourself for my costume. If it's anyone's fault, it's yours." He stifled a yawn behind his hand.

"I know what you mean," Kurt said, yawning himself and not even bothering to hide it. "I'm worn out and I know you got here before me this morning."

Blaine nodded. "7:00 am call, and that was after not leaving here till midnight the night before. Sometimes I think it'd be easier if we all camped out here for the last couple weeks of rehearsal."

"Agreed," he said as the costumer shooed Blaine off the step and waved Kurt on.

"This should only take five minutes."

Blaine picked up his coat but paused after taking one step toward the door.

"Hey Kurt, which way are you headed when you leave?"

"Port Authority for the subway. Gotta get down to the 14th Street station and then take the L over to Brooklyn. I room with Rachel, Santana, and Mercedes in Bushwick."

"I'll wait and walk out with you if you don't mind some company," Blaine offered.

The seamstress was quick as she had promised and several moments later they were winding their way through the labyrinth of hallways beneath the New Amsterdam stage, headed for the stage door. Kurt was pulled in the opposite direction when Blaine grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stage instead.

"C'mon, I want to ask you something."

Kurt let himself be pulled along, seeing no reason to argue when a good-looking man was pulling him toward one of his favorite places, a stage. Blaine strode to center stage before turning to face him, still holding his hand.

"What did you want to ask?" Kurt was a bit breathless from the sprint to the stage and the quick patter of his heart as he took in the way Blaine's eyes shone in the weak illumination from the ghost light.

"Will you sing for me?" he asked with an impish grin.

"I'm sorry? You want _me_ to sing for _you_?

"Yeah. I can hear you, you know. Even when you're singing in the ensemble. Your voice really stands out, even when they try to hide you in the back row."

And Kurt was glad it was so dim, for surely he was blushing now at the thought that Blaine had noticed him. But all he said was, "I think they're trying to keep me in back to hide my pale face. It'll take a lot of ethnic makeup to make me look Middle Eastern."

Blaine waved a hand, showing that was hardly something to worry about now. "Will you sing for me?" he asked hopefully.

Kurt thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No."

"But-"

"I won't sing for you," he interrupted, "but I'll sing with you."

"Deal. What song?"

Kurt smirked at him. "Just try to keep up, hmm?" He walked downstage, facing the empty house, and sang, "You are some gumshoe, you just don't think, well, get this dumb gumshoe, you come from my ink well." He could hear Blaine laughing behind him, and turned to direct the next lines to him. The other man came in right on cue with, "You are so jealous of my track record," and Kurt had to laugh at his over-exaggerated facial expressions.

And when they finally joined their voices on "You're nothing without me," he felt that click of two performers in sync vocally and emotionally. They finished the song laughing at each other, even improvising a bit of tap choreography to the music in their heads.

"I knew it!" Blaine exclaimed, clapping him on the back then keeping his arm around Kurt's shoulders. "I could hear you in the chorus but just wanted to hear you by yourself. Your voice is amazing."

"Thanks," he said, knowing he was blushing and hoping that Blaine couldn't see it in the dim lighting. He glanced over his shoulder toward the stage door, then back to Blaine. "We should probably start heading out though, I'm sure the guard is ready to lock the doors."

"So tell me," Blaine asked as they turned together. "Why are you in the chorus? You should be…..what?"

Kurt was tapping Blaine on the arm, his eyes fixed on the back wall of the stage. A young woman—no, more like the holographic image of a young woman, the upstage wall visible through her body-stood looking directly at him, wearing a beaded dress that looked like it might be green though it was hard to tell in the dim light. She held a bottle in her hand.

"Please tell me you see her," he whispered. From the corner of his eye he saw Blaine's minute nod. Kurt debated for a moment, as any social lessons he'd ever been taught didn't exactly cover ghosts, but finally decided. "Hello, Olive," he said softly.

"Hello," Blaine breathed from beside him.

Her only response was a slight raising of her chin as she regarded them a moment longer, then she turned and walked into the wall, disappearing from sight.

Kurt stayed where he was for a moment, almost afraid to move, as if he might break the spell of what had just happened. Blaine moved first, taking Kurt by both arms to turn him around so they could see each other eye to eye.

"Did you see a young woman in a beaded dress, like she was from the Roaring Twenties?" he asked, his voice low.

"And holding some sort of bottle in her hand?" He nodded, still numb. "Yeah, I did."

"Kurt, we just saw-"

"Olive Thomas," they finished together.

"She hasn't been seen here since they were refitting the theatre for Mary Poppins, Rachel told me." Something occurred to Kurt. "Oh my God, Rachel. I'll never hear the end of this, she was hoping to see Olive herself."

"Well…..we don't have to tell her, do we?" Blaine asked.

"You don't…..don't want to tell everyone?"

"Might be fun to tell everyone, but you know not everyone will believe us."

"Well, true. Even the theatre world has its skeptics."

"But we know what we saw, right?" Blaine waited for Kurt's nod. "And this way, it can be our secret. Something only we know."

Kurt smiled. "I think I like the sound of that. And it'll save us both an earful from Rachel."

Blaine laughed, slinging an arm around Kurt's shoulders again as they headed for the stage door. "Do you feel like getting a coffee somewhere, sit and talk a while? We can trade ghost stories."

Kurt hesitated. He was already tired and knew if he didn't go straight home and sleep he'd regret it tomorrow, but he was already wired from the events of the past few minutes. It wasn't every day that he had an encounter with a ghost.

"I'd love to," he smiled as they came up to the security guard's desk and signed themselves out.

"Late night tonight, boys?" the guard grunted. "Rest of cast left an hour ago."

"Costume fittings," Blaine answered. "Then we tried out a new tune on the stage."

The guard nodded, already turning back to the small TV showing a college football game.

Kurt paused with his hand on the door and addressed the framed picture on the wall.

"Goodnight, Olive."

* * *

Blaine held the door for him as they left the theatre, walking out on to 41st Street and into the chilly air of the February night. Kurt pulled his hat down further over his ears and zipped up a little higher.

"This has been the most awful winter for snow," he commented as they picked their way carefully around patches of ice in the sidewalk. "I swear, even Ohio doesn't get this much snow in a single winter."

"Wait—you're from Ohio?"

"Yeah. A little no-where-ville that you've never heard of. Couldn't wait to leave."

"Try me."

"What?"

"Tell me the name of your town, so I can find out if I've heard of it."

"Lima."

"Wait, as in the Lima Bean? That little coffee shop just off Hwy 10?"

"Oh my God, you've been to Lima?" Kurt stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and Blaine did too, causing a gaggle of teen girls that had been behind them, to split and flow around them.

"I grew up in Westerville, not too far from there."

"What are the odds? Seriously?" Kurt couldn't believe it. "So when'd you come to New York?"

"Well, I moved here for college," Blaine said, continuing down the sidewalk. "I always knew my goal was to perform on Broadway, so it just made sense to go to school here, where it all happens. I've been wondering why you didn't take that route."

"Well, I went to school in Ohio. I did theatre there."

"But why not come here?"

"Not everyone has the money to move to New York City straight out of high school, Blaine. And some of us have responsibilities at home, we can't just go flitting off to pursue our own dreams without thinking of others."

"Whoa. Didn't mean anything by it."

"I know. Sorry." Kurt tried to relax. "I guess it's a sore spot."

"Do you mind if I ask why?" Blaine asked, hesitant.

Kurt didn't answer at first, just walking steadily with his head down, watching the sidewalk pass by.

"At home," he started finally, "it's just me and my dad. My mom died when I was eight."

"Oh. Sorry." Blaine's voice was soft, barely carrying over the hum of city traffic.

He only hummed in acknowledgement before he continued.

"So my dad and I are really close, and when he had a heart attack my sophomore year of high school, it felt like my world was ending. I really think it might have, if he hadn't pulled through."

"I can't imagine."

"Before his heart attack, I was making plans to attend college here. I'd researched all the schools, was thinking about audition songs, my dad and I talked about the most economical way to spend a few days in New York when we came here for the auditions. We were already brainstorming ways to afford college here. I felt bad to leave my dad alone, felt bad even two years before I would have done it, just at the thought of it, but….I wanted to be in New York so badly, Blaine. You just don't know."

"Actually, I think I do. I felt the same way about coming here."

"So when my dad had his heart attack, somehow my New York plans disappeared in a dry ice fog. I couldn't imagine leaving him behind then, not when I'd almost lost him, and all the bills from his hospital stay would have made it even harder for us to afford college here, and just…..everything." He gestured in a helpless way.

"So what did you do?"

"Finished out high school in Ohio and then stayed there for college too. Lived at home for most of college, till my dad kicked me out my senior year."

"I'm sorry…kicked you out?"

Kurt laughed as he realized how that sounded. "Not that way. He just told me that he wanted me to have a full college experience for my last year, living away from home and all."

"Sounds like he just wanted the best for you."

"His new girlfriend—Carole-may have had something to do with it too, he may have made a comment about wanting to have middle-aged sex on the kitchen table, but I've tried to block it out."

Blaine looked horrified. "Why'd you have to go and say that? Now I have to try to block it out!"

"Misery loves company," Kurt smirked.

"Well now you owe me. So what's the rest of the story? You came here right after college?"

"Not immediately. Money was still an issue, so I planned to spend the summer working for my dad in his garage, save money. But the summer ended and I was still there, I don't know why. I think I just got in a rut. All that naïve drive and ambition I'd had in high school….somehow I'd lost it. I'm not sure I ever would have shook out of it by myself, but when I was still there at Christmas my dad gave me a one-way ticket to New York and said I was going. It was almost like I'd been waiting for him to give me permission to go, and he did."

"So that was how long ago?"

"Hmm….almost three years. Hard to believe now. Those first few months were rough."

"But you've lasted this long. You're paying the bills as a Broadway gypsy, right?" Blaine's hand reached across, taking Kurt's and squeezing it briefly. "That's more than a lot of Broadway hopefuls ever accomplish."

* * *

"Hold it, hold it!" The orchestra stopped playing abruptly at the director's yell and the cast paused mid-dance step, some of them with their arms still in the air as they waited for further direction. "Cast, you're fine, just relax a second. It's the lighting cues that are off." Artie spun his chair around to address the control booth at the back of the house. "Lauren! I thought we agreed on blue light for this scene?"

Kurt took advantage of the break to go to his bag in a corner of the wings and grab a bottle of water. Tina was at her station, listening on her headset to whoever was talking on the other end, nodding and taking notes.

"OK, I'll be here." She let the headset slip down around her neck, where Kurt could still hear voices faintly speaking. "He apparently needs time to confer with his minions at the back of the house," she said to Kurt, picking up a water bottle herself. "Then he'll get back to me. So, do you feel ready for previews?"

"Not a bit. Being in a brand new show is exhausting, it's more work than joining the cast on a show that's already running, and I thought _that_ was hard." He didn't want to complain, because this experience had been amazing so far and in so many ways, it was exactly what he'd dreamed of when he came to New York, but he was exhausted. Muscles that he'd thought couldn't get any more toned than they were, felt sore from the endless repetitions of doing the same dance moves over and over during tech rehearsals. Missing sleep last night, due to staying at the coffee shop with Blaine till 2:00 am, hadn't helped. But there were worse reasons to miss sleep.

"It's more work on this end too, believe me. And more pressure." Her headset crackled with her name and she put it back on, turning back to her cue book.

Kurt wandered back to the stage, where the cast had broken into loose groups to chat quietly while they waited. Many had gone for their water, some were stretching, trying to keep their muscles loose during the downtime. Several had simply found a spot to stretch out, apparently viewing even a five minute break as a cue for naptime.

It was after dinner break, after the fifth run-through of Prince Ali this hour alone, after Kurt swore to himself that he couldn't possibly do that number one more time, that they paused for the orchestra to tweak something.

He saw Blaine heading his way, again. The lead actor had been using these little breaks to have conversations with him. He couldn't help but feel pleased that this really cute guy was seeking him out, in spite of the fact that he'd seen several other guys in the cast flirting with him. And a couple of the girls too.

"I think I'm sick of hearing about this Prince Ali," Blaine said. "Who is this guy, anyway? What makes him so special?" He scrubbed his hands through his hair, making it stand on end.

"Rumor has it he's pretty good-looking," Kurt smiled.

"Oh, really? Tell me, what else have you heard about him?"

"Well, he-"

"Kurt." Tina was at his elbow with an urgent look. "You need to call home, Kurt." A security guard stood behind her, and Kurt's heart dropped.

He turned and ran for his bag, digging out his phone which he'd switched to silent during rehearsals. He had five missed calls from Carole, starting an hour ago. There was only one reason he could think of that Carole would be trying so urgently to contact him.


	5. Chapter 5

The automatic doors at Lima Memorial Hospital couldn't slide open fast enough for him. He wanted swinging doors that he could run through, even stopping to turn a doorknob would be too long of a delay. He was too impatient for the elevators, instead running for the stairs. His last conversation with Carole, in the cab on the way from the airport, she said his dad had been moved to the second floor for observation. So he knew his dad was stabilized, but he still needed to see him for himself.

Room 212 was at the end of the hall. He paused at the door, letting himself unclench for the first time since he got the news of his dad's collapse. He was awake, holding Carole's hand as she sat by him. A nurse stood on the other side of the bed and he was turned toward her, answering questions as she entered information on a tablet.

"OK, that's it for now. You rest and I'll be back to check on you again." She looked up and saw Kurt at the door. "Looks like you might have a visitor."

"Kurt." His dad's face lit up as he saw him, then he frowned. "What are you doing here? I thought you said you were rehearsing round the clock. You said you didn't have time to sleep." He looked at Carole.

"I couldn't not call him, Burt," she replied to the unspoken question. She stood up, releasing her husband's hand. "You come keep him company for a little while, I'm due for a coffee break." She gave Kurt a quick hug and left.

His dad was rolling his eyes as Kurt leaned down to carefully give him a one-armed hug, trying not to press in too close and dislodge any of the tubes attached to him.

"You shouldn't have come," he muttered. "It's nothing."

"It's obviously not nothing, Dad. You passed out. You're lucky Carole was right there to call the ambulance for you."

"It wasn't a heart attack. I'm not dying. They just need to adjust my meds, that's all. They said I'll go home tomorrow."

"Then I'm here till tomorrow," Kurt said firmly. His dad opened his mouth as if to protest. "Tomorrow's our day off anyway, none of the cast will be there to rehearse, so I'm not missing anything."

"Never could tell you what to do, even when you were little. I'm just lucky you were always a good kid, I'd have had my hands full if you were the mischievous type." He held out a hand, which Kurt took. "I'm glad you're here, though I wish I didn't have to be in the hospital to get you home for a visit."

"I know, Dad, I'm sorry. It's just that it's really hard to take days off from Broadway."

"Kurt, I get it. And I'm proud that you're in New York, that you're chasing your dreams, and catching them. I knew you'd make it on Broadway. You'd set your mind to it, and that was that."

"I'm glad one of us was confident. I wasn't so sure myself for a while there."

"But you stuck it out. So tell me about this show you're working on."

"Well, you'll get to see it for yourself when you come for the previews in two weeks. Do you think you'll be well enough to travel by then?"

"Relax, Kurt. I'll be there."

* * *

"Welcome back," Blaine greeted Kurt where he stood in the wings watching Rachel on stage with Santana and Mercedes, rehearsing 'These Palace Walls'.

"Hey." Kurt smiled, but he could barely hold back a yawn. The cast's day off, which should have time for him to rest and recuperate, had been spent settling his dad back in at home and flying back to New York late that night.

"Is your dad okay?"

"How'd you know?"

"Well, you ran out of here for some reason two nights ago. And you know how gossipy this cast is."

"Yeah, he's okay. The doc was playing with his meds, and his blood pressure got too low, that's why he passed out. They just kept him overnight for observation and to fix the meds, hopefully they got it right this time. He went back home yesterday."

"I'm glad he's okay. But you look exhausted."

"I am. It wasn't much of a day off."

"Can I maybe help you to relax with a nice leisurely dinner? Hot dogs from the cart on the corner, bolted down during the 30 minute dinner break that we're allowed? Tempting, right?" Blaine waggled his eyebrows.

Kurt laughed. "Fine. We can talk over dinner break. But I can't stay out late tonight after we finish here, I have to go home and get into bed."

* * *

"Dad. Glad you finally made it." He barely let his dad get out of the taxi before hugging him, then released him so he could offer a hand to Carole just scooting her way out on the side facing the sidewalk, deciding not to risk the traffic whizzing by on 41st Street. He gave Carole a hug as well.

"We wouldn't miss it." She hugged him back and with her warm smile he was reminded how much he genuinely liked her. She made his dad happy, which alone would get his approval, but he had a feeling he'd like her even if she hadn't started dating his dad.

"Let's get your stuff so I can get back in there, I asked for a ten minute break to come out and get you but I can't be gone any longer." A moment later their bags had been retrieved from the trunk and Kurt led them to the stage door. "I have to check you in, since the theatre is officially not open to the public today." He held the door open for them, saying "hello Olive" as he passed her picture, and went to the desk to write their names in the visitor log. He turned to see his dad looking at him quizzically.

"Who's Olive, kid?"

"Oh, she's our theatre ghost. That's her picture right behind you," he explained, pointing over Carole's shoulder.

They both turned to look, then his dad asked, "You been rehearsing too much to sleep enough? Cause you don't usually talk to pictures or tell ghost stories."

He debated trying to defend their cast's odd traditions regarding Olive Thomas, maybe even tell his dad that he'd seen her himself, and had a corroborating witness to the event. But he needed to get back on stage, so he just said, "Can we chalk it up to one of those weird theatre traditions that you'd understand if you worked on Broadway?"

"Whatever you say." But his dad still looked at him strangely.

"Theatre folk are notoriously superstitious," he told them as he led the way through the backstage hallways. "That's the main reason you and the other family and friends are here today. It's considered bad luck to finish a play, even if it's just a rehearsal, without an audience. So for the final run-through, when we're hoping to do the entire show just as if it were our first ticketed preview, we need an audience. Wouldn't want to jinx our show before we even open."

"So is it superstition that makes you say hello to that picture?" Carole asked, stepping carefully over cables in the hallway.

"You got it. The entire cast and crew say hello and goodbye to Olive every time they enter and exit the building. We have to keep her happy." He saw them to a pair of third row seats before hurrying back to the men's ensemble dressing room.

* * *

The heightened hubbub of the dressing room was starting to give him a headache, even though he was used to the white noise of the chatter on any regular day of rehearsal. The night of their first preview, with the anticipation of performing for the first time before a paying audience, it seemed everyone's voices had modulated up by half a pitch, everyone talked just a little faster, waved their hands around a little more as they spoke. But now it was opening night, and he was enclosed in a fish bowl of unrelenting sound. By the time he got his makeup on, feeling like his face would crack if he smiled too much under the multiple layers of heavy dark foundation, he simply had to take a break for a while.

He made his way through the hallways, past tech crews busily going about their prep tasks, Tina speaking frantically into her headset, "what do you mean, it's not there? Everything has a very specific place, clearly labeled—well, that should have been taken care of on the first day of rehearsal, _not_ opening night!" He made a wide circle around her and nearly ran into a couple kissing against the wall. Shouldn't they be getting ready? For that matter, when hadthey started dating?

He finally made his way through the labyrinth of hallways, up another set of stairs, to a fire escape door that was usually propped open. Luckily for him, the theatre manager had put her foot down and declared the fire escapes off limits to all the smokers in the cast. If they wanted to indulge their unhealthy vices, they could damn well go the extra floor down to the stage door and stand out on the street to smoke. But not right next to the door, where anyone coming in would have to walk through a cloud of their smoke just to get in the building. Kurt liked the theatre manager.

As he approached, he saw someone was already on the fire escape. He'd hoped for a few minutes alone, but the figure turned at his approach and Kurt recognized Blaine. Well, _that_ was okay. More than okay. They hadn't been able to go out again since grabbing dinner last week, but had had a few conversations during rehearsal downtime.

"Come on out," Blaine invited. "It's marginally quieter out here than it is in the dressing rooms, which is really saying something about the volume of the dressing rooms if New York City is quieter."

"Yeah, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out." Kurt wrapped his hands around the cool metal of the railing and leaned out, looking down 41st Street toward 8th Avenue and the traffic passing by.

Coming back to vertical, he glanced over at his companion. Blaine wasn't in costume yet, neither was Kurt. If either of them had them on, they'd have never made it out of the building without a severe tongue lashing from some member of the production crew about the value of the costumes. But his stage makeup was complete, with dark eyeliner emphasizing his eyes, blush and lip gloss bringing out his features. His hair had been carefully sculpted with just enough mousse to tame his curls—Kurt had seen it at the end of a long day of rehearsal when it stuck out every which way, which he found adorable at the same time he was just dying to fix it.

He realized that Blaine was watching him stare. It wasn't as if Kurt hadn't seen him in full makeup and costume before, after all. Maybe he just liked staring at Blaine Anderson's face.

"They did a good job on your makeup," he commented. "You didn't need as much as me, with your dark complexion. You'll probably be able to move without cracking your face." He moved his jaw side-to-side experimentally, testing his own mask for elasticity.

"You'll be fine," Blaine laughed. "Here, turn toward the light so I can see better." He studied Kurt's face in the light from the hallway. Looking back at him, Kurt realized for the first time that Blaine's eyes were dark brown instead of his usual honey gold—not that Kurt had spent any time dwelling on the exact hue of Blaine's eyes or anything.

"Your eyes," he started. "You didn't wear contacts during the previews, did you?"

"No," Blaine sighed. "I was hoping to avoid wearing contacts, they're a bitch once I get out on stage and start sweating, and then the makeup runs into my yes. I'll be half blind by intermission then will spend most of the break flushing out my eyes and getting my makeup touched up, then putting in a another pair of contacts for the second act."

"So why now?"

"Apparently, some of the feedback from audiences during previews were that my eyes were the only thing that gave me away as decidedly _not_ Middle Eastern. So Artie commanded that I wear dark contacts." He shrugged in a 'what can you do?' gesture.

"I'm surprised the audience can even see your eye color from where they sit. I mean, not that your natural eye color isn't striking enough to draw attention, but the audience is a little ways away."

Blaine smirked at him. "Striking, hmm? Well, it was only the first few rows that could see it, but that's enough. Multiply the number of people who can fit into the first few rows by eight shows a week, times the many years that we hope this show will run, and that's a lot of people who will leave the theatre wondering why Aladdin had such light eyes."

"I suppose."

"I'm not the only one whose natural eye color has been covered up," Blaine commented.

"Well yeah, but I expected it. I figured by the time the costume and makeup departments got through with me, I'd hardly recognize myself. And I don't. Once I'm in full costume and makeup, I do a double take every time I pass a mirror."

"Shame to hide eyes like yours under those contacts, though." Blaine sighed dramatically. "The things we do for our art."

"Hey guys, c'mon!" A voice pulled their attention from each other, to a chorus member waving at them from the hallway. "You didn't hear the announcement? The Robe ceremony is about to start!"

"After you," Blaine said, waving his hand toward the door.

They were the last ones to arrive on the stage, Kurt going to stand with the circle of chorus members, who were chattering amongst themselves as usual. Blaine took his place with the principles who were not allowed in the chorus circle for this ceremony.

"Alright, everyone! If we could have your attention up here, we need to start the ceremony. We have a show to put on tonight!" Applause and whooping followed the director's announcement. "I'm here to introduce the current keeper of the Gypsy Robe, Marley Rose from the cast of If/Then!"

The tall brunette next to him smiled with a shyness uncharacteristic of Broadway performers, and gripped the lapels of the robe she wore to draw it closer around herself.

"Thank you," she said when the applause died down. Her voice was soft but carried to the back of the group where Kurt stood. "It's been an honor to receive the Gypsy Robe, and though I'm reluctant to let go of it, I'm also happy to carry on the tradition and pass it to the next lucky person." The suited man handed her an envelope, and she removed a single piece of paper to read out loud. "The Gypsy Robe is awarded to a member of the chorus who has the most Broadway musical chorus credits. The honored Gypsy puts on the Robe, circles the stage, and the show is blessed. It is my great honor to present the Gypsy Robe for Aladdin to…..Kurt Hummel!"

Applause followed her announcement, while Kurt stood unmoving, trying to process her words. He started when someone whispered in his ear. Blaine, standing behind him now.

"You didn't look this shell-shocked when we saw Olive," he said, just audible over the applause.

"Did she say…..?"

"Yes, she did." Blaine's hand pushed gently at the center of his back. "You're the new King of the Gypsies. Go on up there and get it. Don't skip my dressing room when you do the blessing, ok?"

"Where is Kurt Hummel?" Marley was asking, looking over the cast. The circle had already lost its form, as the entire cast and crew moved forward to see and he walked up the newly created aisle slowly, almost afraid that someone would stop him, would say it was a mistake and someone else here had more chorus credits, but no one did. He found himself standing in front of Marley as she folded the letter back into the envelope. "Congratulations, Kurt. Take good care of it."

He could only nod as the Equity rep stood behind her to lift the robe off her shoulders, then she stepped aside as Kurt turned to slip his arms into the voluminous sleeves of the Robe and let it settle onto his shoulders. It was heavier than he expected, and even for someone of his height, it dragged the floor just a little. He gathered it in his hands a little to keep it from dragging the floor, and came out of his daze to realize his cast mates were still applauding for him.

"You have to circle the stage, and everyone will touch it," the young woman—Marley—prompted him.

This was real. He was actually wearing the Gypsy Robe. The adrenaline surged as it hit him that this was really happening, and he found himself running around the loose circle formed by the cast, joyfully zig-zagging through the line of people three deep, then circling again, and a third time, as hands reached out to touch the Robe. Normally he was protective of his personal space and would have resented so many people crowding close to him, but this wasn't about him. It wasn't him they wanted to touch really, it was the Robe. And he was the wearer of the Robe and it was his job to bless this production.

He left the stage after his three circuits of the cast, heading downstairs to the dressing rooms to enter each one, proclaiming in a melodramatic voice, "I bless this dressing room, the actors in it, and this production."

He saved Blaine's dressing room for last, knocking at the door lightly. Most of the other doors had been open in anticipation of the Robe's arrival, so this was the first one where he'd had to wait for the door to be opened. It was flung back quickly and Blaine, dressed as Aladdin now in his loose pants and open vest that made Kurt's mouth water, gestured him in.

"Sorry about the closed door, I didn't mean to seem unwelcome but the noise level was intolerable. I like a few minutes of quiet time to prepare for a performance, you know?" Blaine's eyes were bright and he bounced a bit on his toes.

"I know what you mean….though the quiet time is harder to get in the ensemble dressing room. I usually have to leave at some point and find a quiet corner in the wings, so I can breathe for a few minutes and center myself."

Blaine nodded in understanding. "Well, do your thing. I wouldn't want my dressing room to go unblessed."

"You know, with all the other dressing rooms, I made a big production of it, but I think I'd like to do something different with the Prince's dressing room."

Blaine looked down at himself. "I'm actually a street rat at the moment."

"Ahh, but we both know there's a prince hiding inside. And I always considered a prince out of my reach. But I'm the Gypsy King, so for this one moment at least, I outrank you." He smiled, a small secret smile before he stepped forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Blaine's mouth.

Blaine stepped forward as well, removing the last bit of space between their bodies, and kissed deeper, his hand coming up toward Kurt's face before he caught his wrist to stop him. Blaine broke away, looking at Kurt with a question mark in his oh-so-expressive eyebrows, his hand still hanging in the air.

"That was really nice, but….we shouldn't get too carried away. We don't want to wrinkle the Robe, or your costume either, or crack my face," smoothing his palms down the front panels of Blaine's vest.

Blaine chuckled. "You're probably right. We can't get too….distracted. But maybe…..the cast party tonight? Will you—accompany me?"

"As your date?"

"Yes."

"Hmm, I don't know. I'm not sure I can stoop so low as to date a common prince. I'm sure a King would have many eager suitors."

A smile played around Blaine's mouth. "Well, maybe think about it? And if you don't get a better offer, I'd love to escort you, my Majesty." He stepped back to make a courtly bow.

"I shall consider your petition," Kurt replied with his nose deliberately in the air, trying to feign nonchalance to cover how hard his heart was beating. "But now, the King must consult with the Royal seamstresses regarding his new robe. He swept to the door, hand on the knob, and turned back to the room. "I declare this dressing room blessed," sweeping his arm out to encompass it all.

He exited, and paused on the other side of the door, forcing himself to count to twenty before opening it again to stick his head in. "I've thought about it," he said to the back of Blaine's head where he was already back at the makeup table. He turned, smiling in anticipation.

"And?"

"I shall allow you to escort me," Kurt declared, then closed the door on Blaine's happy grin. He had to stand for a moment with his hand on the knob, trying to compose himself. He was going to the cast party with Blaine Anderson. And it was opening night of a new Broadway show, and he was in it. And he'd been crowned as the Gypsy King. Could life get any better than this? He looked down, fingering the material, and forced himself to walk away from Blaine's dressing room.

His last stop was the costume department, where he was helped out of the Robe. The head seamstress hung it carefully on a sturdy hanger, up on a clothes rack that was taller than the usual and didn't leave the Robe dragging the floor.

"Am I allowed to contribute ideas for what gets added to the Robe?" Kurt asked. "Or is that considered solely the Costume department's job?"

"Of course you can give me your ideas," the woman smiled. "You're the Gypsy King."

"Great." His mind was already churning, trying to imagine which of the costumes from the production would look best added to the Robe, when the lights blinked and an announcement informed them that it was fifteen minutes till curtain time. "Whoops, gotta go!" he exclaimed. "I'll talk to you later about the Robe." She waved absently as he rushed out, having already turned back to her work, and he ran through the halls to his dressing room to get into his costume for the opening scene.

* * *

Blaine was waiting outside the men's ensemble dressing room when Kurt emerged, leaning on the opposite wall. All traces of stage makeup were gone, and his eyes were back to their normal hue. He looked up from his phone at Kurt's greeting.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Kurt said. "Takes forever to get all that makeup off, and my hair got smashed down under that wig, and I can't wear just anything to an opening night cast party."

Blaine's eyes started at his boots and traveled up the outfit Kurt had chosen till he reached his eyes, and smiled. "Worth the wait." He pushed off from the wall. "Now, we have to run the gauntlet before we can get to the party."

"Excuse me?"

"I've heard there's quite the crowd at the stage door." He offered his arm. "Our adoring fans await. Shall we?"

Kurt smiled at the old-fashioned gesture and looped his arm through Blaine's. "They'll be much more interested in meeting _you_," he said. "Most of them probably won't recognize me as someone who was in the show. They'll think I'm part of the crew or something."

"So you'll tell them," Blaine said easily. "We'll do our bit as stars of a new hit Broadway show, signing autographs and taking pictures, then we'll go party, because we've earned it. All of it."

As advertised, there was a crowd waiting at the stage door. A shout went up from those closest to the door when it opened and Blaine stepped out first, a shout that rippled down the line formed by the barricades set up by security. Blaine stepped forward, an easy smile for the fans, and pulled a Sharpie from his pocket to scribble his name on Playbills, souvenir brochures, CD cases, and posters.

Kurt stood back, letting his date bask in the glory of his first opening night as a lead performer, the one everyone waited at the stage door to meet. He knew how they felt. He'd logged his hours on the other side of those partitions, waiting for hours in all weather conditions to meet those alluring creatures who created magic on the stage. As a kid, he'd refused his dad's offers to wait at the stage door to meet the performers, whenever a touring company passed through nearby. He'd somehow feared that meeting them out of costume, being faced with the realization that they were ordinary people, would ruin the experience for him. But the first time he did meet an actor after a show, he found that it had the opposite effect. He found himself reassured by the evidence that yes, they were ordinary people, and if they could achieve success in the theatre world, maybe he could too.

He looked to see just how far the line extended, and saw Rachel signing as well, looking happier than he'd ever seen her. Mike leaned over the waist high barrier to take a picture with someone. Unique was talking to a young man who looked back at her with even more admiration than was expected for a Broadway star.

"Oh yeah, he's right there," he heard Blaine say, and refocused to see Blaine pointing over his shoulder at Kurt. "He's this guy," tapping the glossy color picture being held by a teenager who couldn't have wiped the huge grin off her face if she'd been paid to. She glanced down at the picture, nearly the full cast at the end of the "Prince Ali" number, then did a double-take at Kurt. She turned the book around to look more closely, then back at him again.

"Really?" she asked Blaine, still next to her as he signed a Playbill for the next fan.

"Really." He turned. "Why are you over there? Come sign your name for your adoring fans. Need a Sharpie?" and he produced a second one from his pocket.

"You carry _two_ Sharpies?" Kurt asked, stepping forward to take it.

Blaine shrugged. "You never know when the first one will run dry." He reached between the two people leaning against the barrier to sign the program being held forward by someone further back in the crowd.

"Can you sign right next to your picture, please?" the teenager asked. "So I know it's you, because you look really different in person."

"The wonders of costuming, and wigs, and stage makeup," Kurt smiled, signing next to his image in the picture. Fortunately, the backdrop for that particular scene wasn't dark, so his signature showed up clearly.

Once he signed for one fan, it seemed, he had to sign for all of them. Not that he minded. His hand got cramped quickly as he followed Blaine and they both worked their way down the line. When they got to Unique, who was still talking to that one fan, he switched his borrowed marker to his left hand so he could shake out the right a bit. Why was Unique spending so much time talking to this one kid, he wondered. Up close, Kurt thought he could see feminine characteristics in the boy's face. Noticed the way he was dressed, with loose pants and a baggy shirt, presumably to cover up curves.

"Kurt, Blaine, this is Riley," and they both shook hands with him. "He waited for me after _The Little Mermaid_ one day, and now he's here. I think he's auditioning to be my very first stalker," said with a smile. "You want to watch yourself," said with mock severity. "You cross the line from fan to stalker, these two guys will straighten you out."

"I only stalk at the stage door, and only with the greatest of respect for you," he answered gravely, putting his hand over his heart and making a slight bow. "Since you guys are here, would you mind?" He held out his program, opened to a page with Unique, in her Genie costume and singing to the balcony, in front of the Cave of Wonders set. She'd signed it, "Keep your head up. Love, Unique."

Blaine flipped over to a picture of himself and Rachel, and Kurt could see that she'd already signed it in gold metallic marker, and drew a star next to her name. He signed his name and passed it over. Kurt signed next to himself on the group picture page, the one that spread out over two pages in the center.

"Thanks, guys," and they moved on down the line. It took quite a while to sign their names and take pictures with everyone who wanted it.

It wasn't till Kurt got to the very end of the line that he realized who waited for him there. His dad and Carole stood patiently in their large winter coats, watching him interact with fans.

"I thought you guys were going back to the hotel. Did you wait all this time?" Having reached the end of the barriers, he simply walked around the end to give first Carole, then his dad a hug.

"Of course we did," his dad said into his shoulder as he hugged him back hard. "We wanted to see the star of the show and get his autograph, get our picture taken with him."

"Oh. Well, he's over there, I'll get him." He turned to call Blaine, still talking to the last few lingering fans, before hearing his dad laugh.

"Kurt. Do you think there was anyone on that stage who's a bigger star to me than you?"

"Whenever you were on stage, it didn't matter who else was on stage or what they were doing," Carole told him. "If you were there, your dad only watched you."

"And I bought one of these big books, so I can get cast signatures, but it's missing the one I really want." His dad pulled one of the larger programs out from under his coat where he'd tucked it, opening it up for him.

Kurt smiled at him and lifted his Sharpie to write next to his picture, "To my first and biggest fan…love you Dad." Then turned at a touch to his elbow, barely more than the suggestion of a touch through the heavy winter coat he was wearing, to Blaine standing there smiling.

"You have groupies already, Kurt? I knew it wouldn't take long."

"Blaine Anderson, aka Aladdin, meet my dad Burt Hummel and my mom Carole Hudson-Hummel."

Hands were shaken all around, and Blaine congratulated on his performance, before Burt announced they were heading back to the hotel.

"I know you got your cast party to go to, so you go enjoy yourself and we'll see you tomorrow for brunch like we planned."

After a couple of last hugs, Kurt and Blaine hailed a cab to go over to the restaurant where the cast party was being held.

As they pulled up at the designated address, Blaine was texting on his phone again, which he'd been doing for most of the ride. Kurt was beginning to get a bit peeved at the lack of attention—after all, hadn't Blaine asked him to be his date tonight?

"Who are you texting?" he finally asked as they got out of the car.

"Rachel," Blaine answered. "She keeps asking when we're arriving. Seems photographers want to get Aladdin and Jasmine together."

Kurt didn't answer, but resolved to speak to Rachel when they both got home tonight. Just because she and Blaine were co-stars didn't mean they had to be joined at the hip off stage as well. She didn't have any kind of monopoly on his time, especially when he was on a date with Kurt.

They entered the restaurant and were directed by the maître d' to a room at the back, the excited babble of voices carrying down the hall. They stopped to check their coats with a smiling employee just outside the door and turned to join the party at last, to find their way barred by the Head Costumer of the Aladdin production.

"Mr. Hummel, you are not going into the party looking like that," she informed him.

"Excuse me?" He looked down at himself. He'd chosen this ensemble with great care, coordinating shoes and accessories till he presented a complete and attractive package.

"You're not ready."

"What do you mean? Blaine, help me out here." He turned to entreat his date for help but he was no longer by his side. Looking further behind him, he found Blaine, grinning widely and holding the Gypsy Robe draped across his arms.

The Costume Head joined him, each taking one side of the Robe so they could drape it over Kurt's shoulders.

"Now, don't you dare eat or drink in this," she told him severely. "You'll have to give it back to me in a bit. But _someone_ thought you should make your entrance in the Robe."

Blaine waved his cell phone slightly, raising his eyebrows. Oh.

"So go and make your royal entrance," Blaine said, giving him a small push. Kurt resisted, turning to back to give him a look. "What?"

"Every member of the royalty needs an escort," Kurt stated firmly, and offered his arm to Blaine so they could walk in together. The Gypsy King and Prince Ali, Broadway royalty for this one night at least. Tomorrow, he'd be just another gypsy again, but tonight, he was king.

* * *

**A/N: This is the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who read and followed. I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope everyone enjoyed reading it. **


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